


We Deserve This

by prattle



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gender-Neutral Chara, Gender-Neutral Frisk, Hospitalization, Mental Instability, PTSD, Post-Undertale Neutral Route, Reader Is Chara, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 02:25:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7995232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prattle/pseuds/prattle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a violent escape from the Underground, Chara has control of Frisk's body. This doesn't go very well for either of them, and their destructive tendencies land them in the hospital. That doesn't go very well, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This Is Your Body

It's hard to sleep in the white room. You've inspected as much as there is to inspect. The walls are blank, dull plastic. There's the white tile of the floor with a light green stripe. There's the plain white ceiling, set with two large fluorescent lights. They have translucent screens placed over them. One depicts a blue sky sprinkled with clouds; one shows a sky with an overhanging tree.  
You hate these dumb lights; it's not even a little like being outside, they're just plain sad. Frisk said they were cheerful, but it was a lie. You, on the other hand, are mature enough not to lie to yourself.  
Well, that's a lie, but it makes you feel better about hating Frisk.  
The contents of the room are sparse. There's the strangely shaped blue couch. It has no solid parts and all the edges are rounded. There's the television, which is up in the corner, above the bed. There's a thick sheet of clear plastic protecting it. You watched cartoons for a while, but you got fed up with having to knock on the heavy door to get the nurse to change the volume. Plus, Frisk was their usual sadsack self and kept complaining about how the noise echoed in the little room. They could be so fucking annoying sometimes!  
You wait for Frisk to protest the use of that word, but it doesn't come. Maybe they're asleep already. It's not easy to sleep in here, though. There's a wide window looking onto the hallway. There are blinds over it, but light still spills in and makes the darkness anything but complete. You hate the window. You can't even see anything through it but another plain, white wall, but then, it's not for your benefit. Apparently the camera set into the ceiling isn't good enough for the doctors! And you saw on your way in how there's a nurse constantly watching a block of camera feeds from different rooms.  
You're lying on the bed, which is a block of rounded plastic with a thin mattress on top, made of the same thick, waterproof canvas as the couch. It has a sheet, but it's still not exactly comfortable. Plus, the plastic part has indentations on the side where, you presume, straps can be anchored in case a patient is unruly. Frisk puts up a fuss every time they notice. They think the two of you deserve to be tied down like the dangerous freaks you are. You agree, but you're more selfish than they are. The ability to move around the room doesn't accomplish much for now, but maybe you can attack one of the nurses later. Show them just how dangerous and unstable and violent and disgusting and horrible you are!  
'Please don't.'  
'So you are awake,' you think.  
'Yeah,' Frisk says. 'It's too loud in here.' They're actually right about that - the room has a strange kind of echo that's a little disconcerting. And then there's the people walking around in the halls all the time. And occasionally screaming coming from one of the other rooms. Frisk gets sad whenever they hear it.  
'I wish they'd turn out those lights in the hall,' you say.  
'Yeah. You're not... really going to attack someone, are you?' Good question. You go quiet, making an effort not to communicate any kind of emotion to Frisk. Let them be scared of what you might do! You both know they deserve it. You snicker at the thought and you can feel Frisk's terror.  
Pain and terror. That's the only thing either of you deserve.  
It was a whole year ago that Frisk led the monsters out of the Underground. Their friends and loved ones were free.  
They deserved to be free. Maybe even Frisk deserves to be free, although they would object to that thought. You don't deserve anything like that. You should attack a nurse. You should hit yourself until a nurse comes and give yourself a bloody nose and then there will be blood everywhere and you can hit the nurse and run out the door and find something sharp.  
Your guard slips and Frisk gets a glimpse of the thoughts. 'Chara, stop,' they say. 'Let me help.' As if you'd surrender control to them. This is YOUR body now. Fuck Frisk. Fuck the doctors. Fuck you. You need to hurt yourself, you need to tear at your wrists until you manage to open a vein and --  
Frisk takes advantage of your distress to take control of your body. They sit up straight on the edge of the bed and wrap your arms around you, as close to a hug as they can manage. They take two long, deep breaths, counting down from seven. You take your body back and keep going on the breathing.  
Frisk is upset too. They take stock of what used to be their body. Pudgier than you ever were in life, but that's not saying much, is it? This body has darker skin that does a better job of hiding the blood that rushes to your cheeks when you're worked up. You weren't allowed to keep your binder, but a sports bra will do for now. They took all your clothes except underwear, replacing them with awful, blue, paper, ever-so-slightly see-through scrubs. You hate them. They're way too big, the seams rip too easily, and they don't hide the scars on your arms. You never liked long pants, either. And the socks, oh fuck! They're thick and shapeless and have weird rubber grips attached to the fabric of the top and bottom.  
'Don't swear,' Frisk reminds you. You never used to swear, but recently it's seemed justified. And you're not a kid anymore.  
'The socks are fricking weird,' you insist.  
'Comfortable though.'  
'They wouldn't be if we had shoes.'  
A knock comes at the door. You sit up straight, compose your face into a wide yet blank smile, and make eye contact with the nurse as he enters.  
"Hello," he says with a sickening kind tone, "my name is Ryan and I'll be your nurse for the first half of today. We've got a doctor coming in to meet with you in about an hour. Is there anything I can do for you in the meantime?"  
Finally, the doctor they've been talking about since they put you in this horrible room. "What time is it now?" you want to know. There's no clock in here.  
"Eight AM. Would you like me to turn the lights on?" You shake your head. The lights are way too bright and you don't want to think about those dumb lying pictures covering them.  
Ryan checks the clipboard he's holding. "How about some breakfast?" he asks nonchalantly. It's his job to ask. You haven't eaten since you were brought here yesterday. It's such a strange feeling, being trapped in this boring stupid room. And of course there's Frisk's insistence that you've got too much flesh already and anyway you don't deserve food. Starvation hurts but it doesn't hurt more than you should hurt, you should hurt every time you move, black out when you stand up, have wounds across your whole body, break apart, grind yourself into dust but suddenly Ryan is right next to you.  
"Hey, calm down. It's all right, Frisk." He reaches out a tentative hand to touch your shoulder but he's RIGHT THERE and there's something in his hand - it's a trap, what else to expect - he doesn't fucking KNOW -  
"It's CHARA!" you scream, and you're lunging for his face, but he steps back and your body is seizing up and you're helpless on the floor and you're dead, he's going to kill you, and you lash out again and again but he's left the room and Frisk is shouting, shouting, but this is YOUR body, YOURS, you killed and killed and killed for it to prove you were as evil as the rest of the humans and you're slamming your fist against the bed, tearing at your face, and then people are touching you, holding you, and you scream and try to bite them but then things are going dark and the last thing you hear before you pass out is Frisk's voice in your head, begging you to stop.


	2. Nothing You Can Do

This wasn't how you'd imagined life on the surface would be. It was almost a year ago that you scraped and clawed your way out of the Underground, and while you never expected anything good from the surface, you'd hoped it would be better than the first twelve years of your life. You laugh, but only in your head.  
You're strapped to the bed. It's not that uncomfortable, but the straps rub against the still-healing cuts all up your arms. Defeated. You feel Frisk's terror, their absolute panic at the situation. They'd struggled, until you woke up. Now they're frozen in terror.  
But you just feel defeated. Just like you did when this happened before. The last time you lived on the surface. The memory of rough ropes chafing your wrists causes the anger to rise in your gut, but it's drowned out by crushing defeat.  
You won't struggle this time. You won't defend yourself. You deserve this and more. After what you did, killing everyone, everyone, trying to wipe existence clean? You're easily the worst person ever to exist in the world. And even in this timeline your self-defense was vicious and you killed and killed on your and Frisk's desperate drive to escape the Underground. To remove you from the place where everyone you care for on Earth lives.  
No more damage. No more timelines. No more evil for the monsters. The humans are another story. Monsters never tied you to a bed and called you a demon.  
Your wallowing is interrupted when the door to the room opens. It's a new nurse. So many nurses.  
"Hey," she says in a horrid kind voice, "how are you feeling?" You just stare at her with a blank smile. "I'm Linda and I'll be your nurse for the next few hours. It's four o'clock, so you missed your appointment with the doctor, but we've scheduled a new one in about two hours."  
Your expression doesn't change despite Frisk's demands that you play nice. This is as nice as you play.  
"Are you in any pain?" she goes on. You don't move. "Need to use the bathroom?" Well, yes, you do. You nod just a little bit, and she smiles at you condescendingly. "All right, just hold on a moment."  
She exits, only to return a minute later with another nurse. Together they undo the straps holding you to the bed. You sit up slowly.  
"All right," Linda says, half to herself. You stand up and they lead you to the restroom, staying close by. This time they actually come into the restroom with you, and although they turn their backs you're still really self-conscious. But you guess the right to privacy isn't something you deserve either.  
When you get back to your room, there's a food tray sitting on your bed.  
You stare at it. A sandwich with lunch meat and cheese, and some potato chips in their own bowl, and apple juice in a plastic cup.  
You didn't ask for this, but you can feel how much your body wants it. You can feel Frisk, too, wanting to grab it and stuff it in your mouth. You guess it might be okay. Not the chips, Frisk notes halfheartedly. And maybe not the cheese. The nurse is still watching you. If you don't eat will she tie you down again?  
"I didn't ask for anything," you feel obliged to say.  
"You should eat something before your doctor's appointment," Linda points out. "That way you'll have more energy to answer his questions and you can get out of here faster, right?"  
You shrug, but it does make sense. You sit on the edge of the bed and put the tray on your lap, making sure to take out the cheese first. Linda makes to leave while you eat, but it only takes you a few seconds to finish the sandwich. You hold the tray out to her.  
"You don't want the rest? Can I get you anything else? We've got pizza, or a salad, or ice cream... the kitchen is pretty good."  
You can't deny the temptation, but Frisk actually seizes control of you briefly to shake your head vigorously.   
She seems annoyed with you. "There's no point being stubborn. If you're hungry, you should eat."  
"Should" is such a stupid word. It doesn't mean shit. You shrug off the admonition from Frisk and shake your head again at the nurse.  
"The more you cooperate, the less likely you are to get fifty-one-fiftied. Unless that's what you want?"  
"What's fifty-one-fiftied?" you ask duly.  
"Involuntary hospitalization," she says, looking at you sternly. "So do you want food or not?"  
You shake your head a third time, struggling to control your anger and despair at having that possibility voiced aloud. Linda shrugs. "Well, you have a doctor appointment in a couple hours." She leaves and closes the heavy door behind her.  
'Didn't strap us down again,' Frisk observes. You don't say a word, but sit on the bed cross-legged. You don't even care that you're free to move around the room. What difference is it? There's nothing to do while you wait for the doctor, which you're okay with. You're trapped here, totally helpless. There's nothing you can do. Even if you were to reset another three hundred times you doubt there's anything you could do to get out of here.  
Humans are a lot harder to deal with than monsters. But you're okay with that too.  
You're okay with a lot of things.


	3. I Hate Myself So Damn Much

Time is strange in the white room. You try to sit on the bed without moving, but you're tired and decide to lay down. You might fall asleep at some point. It would have been nice if they'd left the lights off. Frisk is really anxious, and that kind of makes you anxious, but you decided not to care about anything and you refuse to react.  
The doctor arrives sooner than you expected, so you probably did fall asleep at some point. He's a thirty-something man with pale skin and a mess of dark hair. He closes the door behind him and sits on the weird couch. You don't move.  
"Are you willing to talk right now?" he asks. You look at him and nod. "Would you mind sitting up?" Frisk nudges you and you push yourself up to sit on the edge of the bed.  
"I'm Doctor Nash. And you are?" He's pretending to be nonchalant, but is pretty clearly on edge. Which you can't really blame him for, considering what you did to that nurse who got your name wrong.  
"Chara," you reply.  
"Well, Chara, why are you here?"  
"I've said."  
"I want to hear it from you."  
You've gone over this with at least three nurses, so there's no way he doesn't have it in the papers he's holding. You say it again in a bored monotone. "The woman who's taking care of me saw my arms and realized I was still hurting myself. She called the social worker and I," you swallow, but go on in the same bored tone, "hurt her. The social worker called the police and they brought me here."  
"Why did you hurt her?" the doctor asks softly. Maybe he's willing to ignore what you did when the cops came, which is nice. But you're not going to defend your actions.  
"I don't know," you tell the doctor.  
"Were you aware you were doing it?"  
You nod.  
"So why did you keep doing it?"  
Is he trying to provoke you into attacking him, too? You nudge Frisk, but they're not sure either. You go with the safest response: "I don't know."  
You do know, though. Mrs. Birdsong, your foster "mom", had been... surprisingly okay.  
Fucking clueless, but a lot better than your old human parents.  
'Don't swear.' You scowl at Frisk's interjection.  
The problem with Mrs. Birdsong was, she thought she was like a real parent. Only your real parents were real parents. Not that you deserve any parents after what you did to your family, but you're selfish like that. And when you aren't selfish, you hurt everyone even more, because you're the most human person you know of, the most disgusting, toxic, evil mess of a being ever -  
Wait. Frisk has control of your face. They've been smiling a nervous smile at the doctor and trying to get your attention, because the doctor is talking, but they're not ALLOWED to use your face and you seize control from them, making your smile wider and your eyes blank.  
"But you know," Doctor Nash continues, "the more you're willing to tell me, the better I can help you."  
You nonchalantly put your hands behind your back and use a thumbnail to peel the skin off the side of your right middle finger. Punishment for taking your face. It'll mostly hurt you, but that's okay.  
"Are you willing to talk to me, or would you prefer to stay here until another doctor is available?" He's irritated now. Great.  
"I said I'll talk," you snap back.  
"Do you really not know why you attacked your guardian?"  
'Please, Chara, can you cooperate this time? It's... better for both of us if you're not in here.' You can tell Frisk wants to cry.  
"I was -"  
Shit, fuck, damn, you can't do it. 'Are you volunteering to tell him?' you demand.  
'You know I'm no good at talking!'  
'You're useless!' Frisk goes quiet. They know it's true.  
You've got no recourse but to give up most control of your body. It would be easy for Frisk to take over, but they'd only get a few seconds before you stepped back in and exacted punishment. Instead, you're just detached. Your body doesn't move much, and your emotions are kind of muted.  
"I was scared," you finish, your voice flat.  
"Of your mother?"  
What the fuck. 'It's kind of true,' says Frisk.  
'What.'  
'Just...' they go quiet, realizing it was the wrong thing to say.  
You realize the doctor is looking at you funny. "She is not my mother."  
"I see." He shuffles his papers a little, then glances up. "Do you hear voices other people don't hear?"  
"No," you say, too quickly.  
He looks at you. Well, it's basically the truth. It's not like you hear Frisk talking to you because you're crazy or something. That doesn't count, you're pretty sure. The doctor doesn't seem convinced, but he doesn't press you on it. He asks you some more questions and you duly answer: you think about suicide a lot, you have an idea of how you'd do it, you don't always feel in control, you cut yourself because you deserve it, you starve yourself because you deserve it.  
"Why do you deserve it?"  
"Because I'm a bad person." You're surprised he hasn't noticed. Most people can tell.  
"What makes you think that?"  
You shake your head. You can't explain what you've done, because it mostly involves monsters and he wouldn't understand. "I can't tell you."  
He seems intrigued. "Why not?"  
You scowl at him. 'Be nice,' Frisk reminds you.  
So you clear the emotion from your face and say, "I just can't."  
He makes a thoughtful hum. "How long ago did you start to hurt yourself?"  
Your eyes shift to your bare arms. "A year? Maybe longer." Because you did it before you had this body. It's been more than three years. But this body doesn't have any scars older than a year. You wonder if he knows you're not being honest.  
"Well," he says, "I think I'm going to have to place a hold on you." Your stomach drops but you hold on to your sense of apathy. "The good news is, we actually have a bed open in the juvenile inpatient ward here, so you won't have to stay here any longer."  
"For how long?" you interject.  
"I'm putting you on a five-day hold, but that doesn't include the weekend. After a week, we'll see how things are going."  
Fuck. Both you and Frisk are quietly horrified at the prospect of being locked in a mental ward for a full week. But it seems like that's what's happening, with or without your consent.


	4. This Is Absolute Bullshit

It's another half-day, about, until you're moved. This time it's not the nurses, but a hospital security team that escorts you from the white room.   
One of them is holding the giant plastic bag with your real clothes and the stuff you had in your pockets. Just a little money, your knife, and a deck of tarot cards you stole from a bookstore. (You don't really know how to use them but they're cool to look at.) He doesn't look like he's going to give you the bag, so you shut up and walk.  
Frisk is a mess of anxiety as you're led out through the emergency room lobby. To be honest, you're not feeling that good about all the people in the waiting room seeing you in the stupid paper scrubs, and you retreat a little toward the back of your mind. The guards actually take you outside, and you can see the car they're taking you to, parked right outside, but it's also the first time in a couple days you've been out in the sunshine, and there are trees and plants all over and a sea of cars and, well, it's all kind of overwhelming but it's also really nice to see.  
A security guy opens the car door for you, and you crawl in and sit down. It's a pretty roomy car with black seats and a dark grey outside, really new. He closes the door and gets in the passenger seat. The driver turns around to give you a glance, and you shrink just slightly.  
"Seat belt, kid."  
"What?"  
"Fasten your seat belt before we move," the passenger clarifies for him.  
You glare at him and pull the seat belt into place. You guess it isn't that surprising that hospital staff would be so concerned with something like that, but the driver was pretty condescending about it.  
You watch out the window as the car pulls out of the parking lot and drives down the street, which is lined entirely with hospital buildings. But you're only in motion for a couple blocks before the car pulls into another driveway.  
"This is it?" you mumble. It's a squat, two-story building, separate from the big complexes, with no signs or anything. The driver nods as the car pulls into the little parking garage beneath the second floor. It seems to take up most of the building's ground floor so most of the stuff inside must be up there.  
The car stops next to a nondescript door in a cement wall. A tall woman wearing a nurse's uniform and Doctor Nash are waiting there, both smiling. The woman writes something on her clipboard as the two guys get out of the car. One of them hands your stuff to the woman, while the other comes around to your side of the car and opens it.   
You get out, pretty self-conscious about your weird clothes and the treaded socks that seem so out of their element on the asphalt of the parking lot. Frisk reminds you that this must be something all these people deal with every day, which is actually comforting but you don't want to say so.  
Doctor Nash stepped forward. "Hi, Chara," he said in a politely warm welcome. "We've got a bed ready for you. Tasha -- " he gestures to the woman holding the clipboard -- "is going to do your intake and show you around. I'm just here to make sure you feel comfortable. This is a safe place, all right?"  
You sense that Frisk actually does feel comforted by his presence, and scoff internally. 'Are you forgetting that this guy is the one who got us put here in the first place?' you think.   
'I... Chara, his job is to make us safe.'  
'What does he know about keeping me safe?' It's a stupid question, you know it's a stupid question, and then you realize that the doctor and the nurse are just standing there all polite waiting for you to pay attention and you feel even stupider.  
You look at your feet, hiding your embarrassment, and nod. "Great," Nash says. You know he's faking his cheerful attitude. It's annoying. "You'll be seeing me every day for our appointments," he chirps, "except on weekends. So you can let me know if you have any problems, ok?" He waits for another nod and then goes off through the door.  
Then the lady, Tasha, and the security guard who was sitting in the passenger seat, they make sure you're all right and then they take you through the door too. You go up a staircase and out a white door and onto this indoor balcony. It's actually kind of a nice space, sunlight pouring through the big windows onto the stairs down to the glass front doors.  
You don't spend long there, though. You and your escorts walk past the staircase and through a heavy door on the other side. Behind it is a little vestibule, with two doors on one wall, two doors on the wall you came through, and one more door across from that. The floor is wooden and the walls are papered light beige. It's boring but in kind of a peaceful way.  
The guard guy takes a key and opens one of the doors to your right. It's a supply closet, and he takes out a bundle of blue fabric. "So what you're going to do," Tasha says, "is go into the bathroom here --" she gestures at the door next to the closet -- "and change into these."   
The man hands you the clothes with a nod. You and Frisk are both incredibly relieved that they're real fabric, like, these are actual clothes. You miss actual clothes. But the nurse is talking again, all apologetic. "The thing is, we need to do a skin check before you go in the ward. It'll only take a second, I just have to make sure you're not injured or have any other problems."  
You manage to hold it together but you and Frisk are pretty sure that from the tone of her voice she means your, like, *entire* body, and you know you've gone totally still and blank-faced in the way that creeps people out but you don't even care, like what the fuck this was supposed to be, you were supposed to be safe here and now -- Frisk usually helps you when you get like this but they're kind of panicking too -- the nurse opens the door to the bathroom.   
You go in, stony-faced, not listening to what she's saying. You mechanically take off the stupid STUPID paper scrubs and practically throw them on the ground and you have to take off your underwear too and you practically cry even though you and Frisk are as far back into your mind as you can go, but it really does only take a second and then she leaves and you sit down on the chair really short of breath and struggle to get the new clothes on.  
Frisk is able to help by now, a little, so you take deep breaths, and piece by piece you get the new scrubs on. They're a dark blue color and made of actual real fabric, not like the stupid teal ones you just had to take off -- anyway it's a t-shirt with a chest pocket, and a pair of pants, both made of the same crisp fabric. And there's a really nice jacket made of it too, the sleeves are tight at the wrists and there's a big pocket on each side and a shiny row of buttons up the front.   
You're breathing normally by now, and take a look in the mirror. A total mess. You haven't showered in like a week (they kept asking if you wanted to when you were in the white room but you didn't) and your eyes are all bloodshot and your face, Frisk's face really, is all thin and has bags under the eyes. But the blue scrubs... do look all right on you. You splash some water on your face and feel a little better, at least. So you open the door back into the vestibule and step through.


End file.
